Christopher Garbowski
Maria Curie-Sklodowska University, Lublin, Poland
Abstract
The article explores the problem of film's adaptation
of a literary work's religious sensibility. Although some of the Christian
elements of Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings remain and others
have gained a different emphasis, the author maintains that the spiritual
dimension of Jackson's adaptation is a more promising field for comparison.
One of the major narrative metaphors in the literary and film trilogy
is life as a journey; consequently, the problem of choice highlights
the essential role of the conscience for human spiritual development.
The journey's terminal point, death, likewise becomes a major concern,
and a key to understanding the spiritual dimension of Jackson's work.
Introduction
[1] Much has been written on the religious themes
in Tolkien's work.[1] This is hardly surprising. The
author was an Inkling, one of the Oxford Christians, as the group
has been dubbed. Moreover, in a letter to his close friend Reverend
Robert Murray, Tolkien himself claimed that his novel was ultimately
"Catholic." [2] When examining Peter Jackson's film in relation
to the literary Lord of the Rings, the question naturally arises as
to how much of this sensibility informs the cinematic adaptation of
the novel? [3]
[2] Jackson himself admits an awareness of the book's
religious themes, but claims he felt no obligation to deal directly
with them. Frances Walsh, one of the project's three screenwriters,
likewise recognizes the faith that informs the novel: "The values
in them, they give you a sense of hope: that it isn't chaos, that
it isn't arbitrary, that it isn't without a point." [4] Despite his disclaimer, a closer analysis
of Jackson's film trilogy
[5] would no doubt reveal overtly religious themes in his version.
Some of them are even recognizably Catholic, such as the moment of
grace in the form of a vision of Galadriel that visits Frodo in Shelob's
lair while he seems to succumb to exhaustion and despair. However,
on the whole a more fruitful line of analysis is to look at the spiritual
dimension that permeates the cinematic Middle-earth narrative, since
that is where the filmmaker engages in a creative dialogue with the
literary original.
Self-Transcendence and the Spiritual Dimension in Fantasy
[3] Among the most sustained and complex metaphors
in The Lord of the Rings is that of life as a journey.
[6] If we treat the Tolkien's Silmarillion mythology
as a guide, then the nature of this journey becomes fairly clear.
Iluvatar, the godhead of that mythology, imparts a "strange gift"
upon his human subjects in "that the hearts of Men should seek
beyond this world and should find no rest therein; but they should
have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers of the world, beyond
the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else."
[7] If we ignore the "Music of the Ainur" for the time
being, then a key factor governing the characters of the mythology
expressed in the passage is a hunger for the transcendent very much
akin to and likely inspired by the Augustinian sense that life on
earth is a pilgrimage.
[4] To examine the spiritual dimension of Jackson's
version of Tolkien's novel, this paper will use the religious humanistic
psychology of Viktor E. Frankl and his concept of self-transcendence.
Frankl, similarly to Tolkien, believes that "[a]t the base of
our existence lies such an insatiable yearning, that its object can
be none other than God." [8] Much as in Tolkien's Augustinian-inspired mythology, this yearning
endows individuals with a "virtue to shape their lives."
This is the gist of Frankl's concept of the individual's capability
for self-transcendence. [9]
[5] More practically, this yearning is evidenced
in our will to meaning, the major motivating force for human actions,
which Frankl believes to be evidence of our spiritual nature. This
is not an instinct and is governed by choice on the part of the agent.
However, it does not discount instincts: for instance, Freud's pleasure
principle is not rejected as such. Likewise Alfred Adler's will to
power is considered an explanation for a major sphere of human motivation.
But each of the above has its place. When people fail at discovering
meaning in their lives they may rely too heavily on their instincts
or power on account of an existential vacuum that ensues. Through
values we find meaning in our lives, giving us the strength to fulfil
our human potential.
[6] The interaction of these various motivating
forces is quite complex in human actions. Narrative art requires a
narrower focus in order to be effective. In his essay on the Anglo-Saxon
epic Beowulf, Tolkien notes the paring down of the hero by
the author: "Beowulf is not, then, the hero of an heroic lay,
precisely. He has no enmeshed loyalties, nor hapless love. He is a
man, and that for him and many is sufficient tragedy." [10] Tolkien uses the fantasy genre to convey
his own epic story; it is evident that a similar process of conscious
simplification and selection takes place in his narrative.
[7] Of the three major motivating forces for human
actions, primarily the will to meaning and power have significance
in Tolkien's novels. Total submission to power is also seen in terms
that approximate Frankl's existential vacuum. When Gandalf faces the
Witch King at the broken gate of Minas Tirith, he calls out: "Go
back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness
that awaits you and your master!" [11] The Witch King symbolises a being that has lost meaning in
a literally absolute manner.
[8] The above are prerequisites for understanding
the spiritual dimension of life as a journey in the narratives of
both Tolkien and Jackson. By traversing many types of terrain and
homelands, the journey forces upon the protagonists the issue of choice.
Hardly surprising, then, is the importance of the conscience in the
literary and film epics. Frankl largely agrees with religious tradition
that the conscience is grounded in the transcendent, ultimately safeguarding
the individual from conformity. [12] The conscience is the bedrock of human
spiritual nature.
[9] Crucial for such an understanding is that the
journey in The Lord of the Rings has a major existential significance.
Tolkien stresses that point within a response to a criticism of his
work by W.H. Auden, who observed that most people seem to lead static,
predictable lives. "That is another good reason for sending 'hobbits'
- a vision of a calculable people in long-settled circumstances -
on a journey far from settled home into strange lands and dangers,"
argued Tolkien, "especially if they are provided with some strong
motive for endurance and adaptation. Though without any high motive
people do change (or rather reveal the latent) on journeys: that is
a fact of ordinary observation without any need of symbolic explanation." [13] The above is also why Frankl's pragmatic perception
of the spiritual dimension best elucidates the artistic presentation
of life as a journey.
The Journey from Fiction into Film
[10] Tolkien and Jackson are dedicated in
their own mediums to what might be called a realistic fantasy.
The narrator of the novel refers to the "history" he has
to communicate, while the filmmaker has gone on record claiming he
intended to film The Lord of the Rings as if it were history,
i.e., as if the fantastic events really took place. Tolkien, among
other things, creates an alternative world utilising a prose style
that "might actually be called unusually mimetic." [14] Jackson makes use of traditional filmmaking
techniques in conjunction with modern ones, building real sets where
possible, thus actors spent a minimal time before blue screens, while
conventionally crafted miniatures complement computer graphic images,
etc.
[11] Simulating lived history, Tolkien employs a
rambling episodic prose in which he nevertheless manages to maintain
and even build on the level of suspense. At times adding little to
the plot of the former, the various havens and painstaking descriptions
of Middle-earth nonetheless play an important function. Among others,
they elevate the adventure and struggle against evil above a simplistic
dualism. The involved reader comes to care for the alternative world
itself, thus the struggle matters. As Brian Rosebury notes, Jackson
has likewise surprisingly managed "the realisation of Middle-earth
as a diverse and expansive world of lands and cultures under threat,
a world we need to fall in love with in order to care sufficiently
about the outcome of the plot." [15]
[12] Major filmmaker John Ford claimed that if he
could be called an artist, his art was rather that of an architect
than an author, balancing various creative vectors. Peter Jackson
certainly is the master architect of the cinematic Middle-earth. Despite
appearances to the contrary, his is hardly a Hollywood film: it is
a New Zealander's film project and the spirit of place leaves its
stamp in more than just the scenery. A sense of place must of necessity
be personal, but for the both author and filmmaker it seems crucial
to impart this in their respective Middle-earths. For any journey
to be convincing, it must have a tangible point of departure.
[13] Like Tolkien, Jackson concentrates much
of his efforts in the evocation of the Shire, the enchanting home
of the hobbits. Yet this decision has its consequences. Jackson rightly
surmises that the Shire emanates an innocence that sets the tone for
the kind of hero who can be accepted by a viewer, as opposed to the
reader. In prose, Tolkien can somewhat vary the denizens of the Shire
and present a mature hobbit - Frodo is in his fifties - developing
his character so that the resonance between the character and the
communal environment can be explicated. Jackson's Frodo is virtually
an embodiment of the Shire. The very first shot of the hero sitting
with his back against a tree while reading a book connects him organically
with his environment, and throughout the first film he seems to represent
the quintessence of his homeland: the power of innocence, without
the often attendant silliness.
[14] As an "embodiment," formative moments
have less meaning for the protagonist, and some key literary ones
are removed. At the cinematic level, Elijah Wood has carried out the
exceedingly difficult task of creating "a good character without
becoming sappy or dear." [16] This innocence does not develop, but is rather corroded by
the Ring. In some ways, once he consciously crosses the Rubicon at
Elrond's council, Frodo devolves rather than evolves. This devolution
gains value through its connection to sacrifice. Frankl's existential
analysis accepts this as an element of self-transcendence, thus reiterating
in non-denominational terms the truth common to a number of traditional
religions that in losing the self we regain it. This is symbolised
in the film through Frodo's voiceover at the end of the trilogy connecting
him to the community in which he is no longer physically present.
[15] Tolkien reminds us in his essay "On Fairy
Stories" that children are meant to grow up. Similarly, if the
filmic Shire represents the reassuring aspects of the literary Lord
of the Rings with its strengths and weaknesses, darkness dominates
outside its bounds. In the scene where Frodo and Sam cross the farthest
point the latter has ever explored, a conspicuous scarecrow bears
witness in the background. Like Strawman in The Wizard of Oz
(1939), it has no power to frighten crows - three of them are perched
on its shoulders and head - and the viewers are subtly informed that
they are no longer in the children's story the Shire sequences resemble.
[16] It is worth remembering The Lord of the
Rings itself developed from a book for children. Originally it
was intended to be a continuation of The Hobbit, and in some aspects
its genesis remains evident in the text. Jackson portrays this in
the delightful scene with the small hobbits seated by the fire and
listening in wide-eyed wonder as Bilbo relates the tale of his adventures.
The viewer is reminded of the expectations children's stories raise
and inevitably disappoint when Frodo encounters Bilbo in Rivendell
and tells him that his own adventures were unlike the ones he had
heard of from his mentor. Children's stories, however, remain an important
stage in preparing us to move on in life's journey.
[17] If life is a journey, implicit in the Shire
chapters and sequences is the insistence of both Tolkien and Jackson
that a sense of wonder is vital at its outset for proper growth. A
provocative theme in this regard, at least in our times, is that the
departure from childlike innocence - though it may result in severe
trial - does not necessarily entail an arrival at cynicism. If that
were the case, then however painful the process, the sooner the child
loses his or her innocence the better. Rather, the significance of
the idyllic early portion of The Lord of the Rings in fiction
and film suggests the need for adults to retain at least a portion
of their innocence.
Life as a Journey
[18] Frodo's journey, and those of the other hobbits,
continue outside the Shire where they will make the mature choices
that lead to their personal and spiritual growth. The character who
sends them on their way and helps them at different junctures is Gandalf.
The benevolent wizard is obviously a mentor, both spiritual and earthly.
For a Catholic sensibility like Tolkien's, although its inherent dangers
are recognised, authority is understood to be a necessary element
for community cohesion and the full development of its members; the
prominence of Gandalf is a recognition of this.
[17]
[19] The not unrelated theme of the dangers of mixing
religion and power is alluded to in the narration of The Silmarillion:
"[I]f ever in their dealings with Elves and Men the Ainur have
endeavoured to force them when they would not be guided, seldom has
this turned to good, howsoever good the intent."
[18] Unlike the angelic Ainur mentioned in that passage,
Gandalf represents a spiritual authority relatively bereft of power,
at least for coercion; consultation and persuasion are his strengths.
Even when consultation leads him into dire straits, such as when he
seeks guidance from Saruman, he does not abandon the basic line of
his strategy of reasonable openness.
[20] Spiritual growth is directed toward attaining
the responsible freedom of the individual. The above is graphically
illustrated in the culminating moment of Tolkien's The Fellowship
of the Ring, where Frodo has donned the Ring in order to escape
Boromir and is subsequently almost discovered and cowed by the Satanic
Sauron, when he hears a familiar voice:
For a moment, perfectly balanced between
their piercing points, he writhed, tormented. Suddenly he was aware
of himself again. Frodo, neither the Voice nor the Eye: free to
choose, and with one remaining instant in which to do so.
[19]
[21] Gandalf's interference (it was his "Voice")
can be likened to the transcendent element in Frodo's conscience,
i.e., the element that is external, but which ultimately has a liberating
effect on him. This is entirely proper in religious humanism, which
in Christian tradition is succinctly encapsulated in Irenaeus' declaration:
"The glory of God is humanity fully alive." Such a sentiment
corresponds with the non-denominational claim of Frankl that we fulfil
our human potential most by imitating God, meaning, among others,
the higher we set our sights in life the more we expand our potential
for growth. [20]
[22] Although the moments of choice and conscience
differ in the film - for instance the above scene has a different
tone than in the book - most retain their sense of heightened urgency.
The most obvious ones will be examined here. The importance of Frodo's
accepting the task of Ring-bearer at Elrond's Council has already
been mentioned. The key question here is to what degree he took on
the task with full consciousness of what it might entail for him.
The wound received at Weathertop plays much the same role in both
book and film: to teach Frodo the consequences of bearing the Ring
of Power. Thus when he accepts his task at the Council, he is fully
conscious of the price he may be asked to pay for his decision and
the sacrifice it may entail. It is symbolic that the scar Frodo bears
from the event is visualised in the film when he is lying naked in
the tower at Cirith Ungol after he has suffered a brush with death
similar to the Weathertop incident.
[23] On their journey the members of the Fellowship
come across various havens, which are necessary for recuperation and
a chance of reflection in order to get one's bearings. One of the
more striking havens on page and screen is Lothlorien. The queen of
the realm, Lady Galadriel, is generally more threatening in the film.
[21] Despite her talk of the healing qualities of Lothlorien
she brings to the Fellowship the spiritual sword. Nonetheless, this
is basically an extension of certain Tolkienian possibilities. Galadriel's
shove propels awareness of vocation. Fellowship means something beyond
mere handholding unity: each member must find his true vocation. Although
diverse routes are eventually taken, a deeper level of unity is actually
achieved by them through the complementarity of tasks.
[24] Among the most important words concerning vocation
by any of the characters are those of Faramir when he praises the
Shire for the honour it bestows upon gardeners; fortunately the words
are retained in the extended version of The Two Towers. The
words refer to Sam and his vocation as a servant. Few of us are called
on to be leaders, nor are many called on to make heroic sacrifices,
but most of our callings entail lesser or greater degrees of service.
Frankl's existential analysis would see this as a valid way to find
meaning and achieve self-transcendence. However, in an individualistic
society such as ours, "gardeners" are rarely held in great
esteem. In popular culture, it seems the crucial role of service has
either been gendered female or avoided altogether now that the latter
is considered politically incorrect. Yet part of Tolkien's accomplishment
is in portraying the heroism of service.
[25] Jackson visualises the inter-relatedness of
master and servant through the metaphor of hands that reach for each
other. At the conclusion of The Fellowship of the Ring, the
hand of the master reaches into the depths of the water to pull out
his devoted servant. Conversely, at the climax of The Return of the
King the hand of the servant reaches into the abyss to save his fallen
master. Moreover, one of the most moving scenes in the entire film
trilogy is when Sam lifts Frodo on Mount Doom when his master's strength
fails. It is hardly surprising that for some Sam is the true hero
of the film.
[26] Before he takes the Ring across the Anduin
River, the filmic Frodo offers it to his "superiors" a symbolic
three times. Temptation is a traditional religious theme; what gives
it a modern edge in Tolkien's work is connecting it with the problem
of the corrosive nature of power. Up until Lord Acton in the nineteenth
century it was generally believed that although power was obviously
dangerous in the wrong hands, the virtuous individual could wield
it. [22]
[27] Although Jackson's version of the temptation
scenes largely follows the literary source, interesting differences
occur. The most apparent one concerns Aragorn, perhaps the most transformed
of the major characters. Not only is his expanded temptation moved
to the end of the first instalment where it directly contrasts with
Boromir's failure, there is another crucial difference. When he enters
the story, Aragorn is less of a finished character and his vocational
doubts are more obvious. Noting, among others, how disdainfully Elrond
speaks of his potential son-in-law, Greg Wright perceptively concludes:
[I]n a version of Tolkien's story
where almost every act of faith is replaced by an act solidly
supported by knowledge and fact, Jackson has elected to remove
the certainty of Aragorn's fate with a Modern's portrayal of self
doubt .... For Tolkien, Aragorn is heroic because he is a Hero.
For Jackson, Aragorn is a hero because he becomes one. [23]
[28] Thus with his proclivity toward doubt Jackson's
Aragorn is potentially a much greater target for temptation. Needless
to say, the Ring would be a temptation for him for much the same reason
as it would be for Boromir: to save the failing strength of humans.
This rejection of temptation at the crucial juncture of the film in
effect strengthens Jackson's Aragorn, since it allows him to make
the conscious choice of which road to take, and his acceptance of
the role of a leader of men is less circumstantial. Yet allowing Frodo
to take the Ring on his own into Mordor demonstrates Aragorn's awareness
of the limitations of his own role. The potential monarch's
success rests on the success of the ordinary person, with his own
externally active role in the quest essentially subordinated to the
far more spiritual struggle of Frodo. Although neither character is
two-dimensional, generally Frodo represents the more spiritual dimension
and Aragorn the more active dimension of life's journey, while the
narrative demonstrates how closely the two are interrelated.
The End of the Journey?
[29] Every journey has an ending; the journey that
is life has the most dramatic one for us mortals. One of the major
changes of Jackson's film sheds light on his interpretation of the
theme of death in Tolkien's trilogy. Much has been made of the enhancement
of the elf-maiden Arwen's role in the film. For instance, her rescuing
Frodo from the Ringwraiths at the Ford of Bruinen sequence has garnered
considerable attention. Jeffrey Mallinson rightly indicates the Marian
touch in Arwen's tears of grace in her effort to save him at its end.
[24] However, the most important element in the transformation
has been Jackson's forwarding the story of Aragorn and Arwen's romance
and death scene from the novel's fictional appendix to the body of
the main narration in The Two Towers.
[30] To remind readers, Tolkien's conceit in The
Lord of the Rings is that if an elf wishes to wed a mortal, she
must give up her immortality. Nonetheless, a compensation for
doing so exists. Whereas the elf's immortality is connected with the
duration of life on earth, at best a possible few billion years if
we wish to get scientific about it, becoming "human" involves
the same benefits of humanity's participation in the divine: a chance
at entering eternity through genuine death. To put it another way,
Tolkien's chosen elves participate in a quasi-Pascalian wager.
[31] This does not necessarily make accepting death
any easier when it comes. Despite Aragorn's parting assertion that
"we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond
them is more than memory," [25] the literary Arwen experiences
despair upon her husband's demise, as peaceful and benign as the latter
is described. The question arises: what happens if right from the
start there is no promise of eternity in the bargain? What can Aragorn
offer his beloved besides mortal love?
[32] Consider the scene in the extended version
of The Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn is singing the Lay of
Beren and Luthein, which deals with the prototypical case of elf-mortal
love. Frodo interrupts, asking: "Where is she? ... The woman
you are singing about." Aragorn tellingly responds: "She's
dead." This rather secular hero bears the consciousness of not
having anything but himself to offer Arwen, which explains his acceptance
in Rivendell of Elrond's argument against the union. What does Arwen
gain in her choice? Much as in Wenders' Wings of Desire (1987),
where a similar theme is treated, Jackson suggests the ennui of deathlessness
could add an attraction to the mortal, yet full, life. However, whereas
in the work of the German filmmaker the consequences of the "choice"
are simply understood, in Jackson's film the question of death is
directly confronted.
[33] In the sequence of the film that projects a
vision of Aragorn's death and Arwen's subsequent despair, there seems
to be no room for the Tolkienian words uttered to his spouse. Death
is final. One can counter that an equivalent of the literary Aragorn's
words is substituted in Gandalf's attempt at solacing Theoden at the
site of his son's grave, with much the same effect - the king remains
unconsoled. The wizard reiterates the theme with a more positive result
in his moving dialogue with Pippin during the siege of Minas Tirith
in The Return of the King. Furthermore, the significance of
these words is strengthened through the agency of Gandalf's person
and his experience, especially his being "sent" once again
after his physical death. Visual clues associating Gandalf with Christian
hope occur often enough in the film. For instance, during his fall
into the abyss in Fellowship, his arms are outspread in cruciform.
Moreover, during the course of Gandalf's message to Aragorn in Thþoden's
stable in The Two Towers, one of the upper windows emanating
light forms a cathedral-like rosette around his head. Obviously the
light surrounding him during his revelatory-like "return"
bears a rather heavy-handed religious symbolism.
[34] The above might be true, but it seems in light
of the evidence that the same message is deliberately separated from
the Aragorn-Arwen relationship and dramatises the issue between them.
Thus a parallel truth is added to the overall narrative. Elrond, who
evokes the vision of the death scene for his daughter, makes no mention
of anything resembling Tolkien's idea of death as a "Gift of
Iluvatar" intimated in Aragorn's words cited above. And as we
have seen, if Jackson's Aragorn has such knowledge, he seems not to
believe it. In a sense, Jackson's Middle-earth is more like our own
with a number of truth-claims available, and the central issue of
death becomes more of an open question.
[35] This is not completely out of line with Tolkien's
intent. He once affirmed that the dominant theme of The Lord of
the Rings is a contemplation of death, further quoting Simone
de Beauvoir's words: "All men must die, but for every man his
death is an accident, and even if he knows and consents to it, an
unjustifiable violation."
[26] Theologian Gabriel Moran expresses what might be called
the paradox at the heart of the adaptation: "The one who loves
intensely in this life finds it difficult to believe that anything
survives death. The lover simply finds it still harder to accept that
death is the end of all."
[27] Even upon seeing Aragorn and Arwen united in The Return
of the King, the earlier death scene haunts us.
The Journey Continues?
[36] Through Gandalf's words of encouragement to
Pippin, borrowed and elaborated from the literary Frodo's dream at
Tom Bombadill's house, the question is raised as to whether death
is indeed the final journey. It is worth considering Bilbo's birthday
party where he "disappears." Upon doing so, he goes on a
journey and is never seen again by his neighbours: thus he dies to
the community. If we recall that for Catholics, the day of death is
considered a day of birth into a new life - wherever possible the
liturgical calendar of saints' feast days commemorate their day of
their death - the hobbit's party becomes more of a symbolic wake.
[37] Before making the final "journey,"
a Catholic makes an effort to attain a state of grace in which the
cares of this world are left behind. Bilbo attempts to achieve this
by relinquishing the Ring of Power that he treasures, and that holds
him back, to say the least. We learn later in the story he has not
fully accomplished this state of grace, thus his journey in both fiction
and film has a purgatorial dimension to it. Rivendell is the place
where he stays until he is indeed ready for the "final"
journey.
[38] Whatever we make of Bilbo's allegorical journey,
[28] it is to some extent paralleled by Frodo's life journey.
Like Bilbo he does not want to give up the Ring at the end of his
task. More importantly, Frodo successively gives up more and more
of his self during the course of his mission, and this process continues
during the time of peace for others. Frankl insists "we must
never forget that we may also find meaning in life when confronted
with a hopeless situation as its helpless victim, when facing a fate
that cannot be changed." [29] Frodo continues his task of Ring-bearer often
without any sense of hope, at least not for himself, and realises
that suffering will likely be his lot even upon the mission's success.
[39] Part of the meaning he discovers in the situation
after his mission is in art, through the process of writing. It is
the meaning he discovers at different stages that transforms his experience
of suffering into a purgative one and allows him to attain self-transcendence.
Thus in the film's sequence of Frodo's final departure, we see him
united with Bilbo in the carriage. His smile before embarking on the
ship at the Grey Havens says more about his acceptance of the final
journey, however we interpret it, than his parting words. The white-out
at the end of the scene expresses hope that is in accordance with
the logic of the narrative at that point.
Conclusion
[40] Tolkien has claimed that The Lord of the
Rings is a Catholic novel; Peter Jackson and his team honour that
aspect of the novel, but give it an open-ended spirituality more closely
reflecting the diverse religiosity of their potential audience. In
both cases, conscience and "choice" are the key. While somewhat
unusual for a pre-Vatican Council Catholic like Tolkien, this stress
possibly derives from the Newmanian influence exerted upon him by
his guardian [30]
and his own personal aversion to coercion; in Jackson it seems to
approximate Frankl's conception of the spiritual, which is neither
secular nor necessarily religious. A theme of both the fictional
and filmic The Lord of the Rings is the need for isolated parties
to find common ground to face a mutual threat. The conscience is at
once highly personal but likewise a "common ground" for
the secular and religious search for foundational values on the journey
of life.
[41] The autonomous self has rightly been critiqued
by postmodernism. The common ground suggested above is possible because
the conscience has a deeper foundation than the "self."
For the secular individual, Frankl claims the spiritual dimension
is its source, for the religious person, the conscience is further
grounded in the absolute "Thou." Either way it is crucial
in our becoming "fully alive" on life's journey.
Notes
[1] The bibliography of works and
articles dealing with religious themes in Tolkien's works is quite
rich. I would recommend the collection of essays in the volume Tolkien:
A Celebration, edited by Joseph Pearce (London: HarperCollins,
1999) as a starting point, if only for the variety of approaches the
authors represent.
[2] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters
of JRR Tolkien, Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (London: HarperCollins,
1995), 172.
[3] Jeffrey Mallinson asks the same
question in: "A Potion too Strong? Challenges in Translating
the Religious Significance of The Lord of the Rings to Film,"
Journal of Religion and Popular Culture, Vol. 1 (Spring 2002):
http://www.usask.ca/relst/jrpc/article-tolkien.html.
However, he looks at Tolkien's work and Jackson's film from the perspective
of Jungian psychology. The present analysis is largely inspired by
Viktor E. Frankl's psychology. I have examined the spiritual dimension
in Tolkien's work in greater detail in my book: Recovery and Transcendence
for the Contemporary Mythmaker: The Spiritual Dimension in the Works
of J.R.R. Tolkien (Lublin: Maria Curie-Sklodowska Press, 2000).
[4] See Steven D. Greydanus, "The
Return of the King: Filmmakers contemplate journey, significance
of books and films," Decent Films: http://decentfilms.com/commentary/lotr_junket.html
(04-04-14).
[5] I use the term "trilogy"
for Jackson's project as a useful term to indicate that it was released
in three instalments: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001); The
Two Towers (2002); and The Return of the King (2003). Each
instalment is a part of the full The Lord of the Rings, which
is more properly one film. In this, Jackson's work resembles Tolkien's
"trilogy," which also comprises one novel, and whose division
was a result of a marketing strategy at a time of paper shortages
in post-war Britain.
[6] Brian Rosebury, Tolkien: A
Cultural Phenomenon (Hampshire/New York: Palgrave, 2003), 29-31.
[7] Tolkien, The Silmarillion,
Christopher Tolkien, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977), 41.
[8] Viktor Frankl, Homo Patiens.
Proba wyjaśnienie sensu cierpienia. Roman Czarniecki, trans.
(Warszawa: Instytut Wydawniczy PAX, 1984), 113.
[9] The most succinct version of
Frankl's psychology is presented in his Man's Search for Meaning:
An Introduction to Logotherapy (New York: Pocket Books, 1973).
[10] Tolkien, The Monsters and
the Critics and Other Essays, Christopher Tolkien, ed. (London:
HarperCollins 1997), 18.
[11] Tolkien, The Return of
the King (New York: Ballantine, 1965), 113.
[12] Frankl, Man's Search for
Ultimate Meaning (New York, London: Plenum Books, 1997), 59-65.
[13] Tolkien, Letters, 240.
[14] Rosebury, 15.
[15] Rosebury, 213.
[16] Charles Taylor, "The
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers," Salon.com Arts & Entertainment:
http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2002/12/18/two_towers/index.html
(03-02-18).
[17] See Andrew Greeley, The
Catholic Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2000), 141-42, passim.
[18] Tolkien, Silmarillion,
41.
[19] Tolkien, The Fellowship
of the Ring (New York: Ballantine Books, 1965), 472
[20] Frankl, Homo Patiens,
104.
[21] This is especially the case
in the theatrical version, but is muted somewhat in the extended DVD
director's cut.
[22] Cf. Tom Shippey, The Road
to Middle Earth (London: Grafton, 1992 [1982]), 124-26. Acton
made the famous observation "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts
absolutely." which Shippey feels could effectively serve as a
motto for The Lord of the Rings.
[23] Greg Wright, "Elrond
and Peter Jackson's Aragorn," The Lord of the Rings at Hollywood
Jesus: http://www.hollywoodjesus.com/lord_of_the_rings_feature_02.htm
(03-01-06).
[24] See n 3 above.
[25] Tolkien, The Return
of the King, 389.
[26] Quoted from JRRT: A Film
Portrait of JRR Tolkien. Visual Corporation, 1992.
[27] Gabriel Moran, The Present Revelation: In
Quest of Religious Foundations (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972),
293.
[28] Tolkien claimed on occasion
to be averse to using allegory in his art. However, in the short story
"Leaf by Niggle," he certainly uses allegory, and if my
reading of Bilbo's "journey" is warranted, it also broaches
the Catholic theme of purgatory by means of a journey and an artistic
haven.
[29] Frankl, The Unheard Cry
for Meaning: Psychotherapy and Humanism (London: Hodder and Stoughton,
1979), 39.
[30] Tolkien's guardian after his
mother's death was Father Francis Morgan, a member of the Birmingham
Oratory where John Henry Newman had built an Oratory House. See Humphrey
Carpenter, J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography (London: HarperCollins,
1977), 51, passim.
